


Christmas Carols

by WritingQuill



Series: 25 Days of Christmas Drabbles [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Church Choir, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, mummy holmes - Freeform, violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mummy punishes Sherlock by making him play for the church choir at Christmas eve. During the rehearsals, Sherlock meets John, which makes his punishment not as bad after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Carols

**Author's Note:**

> Day 23, word: carols 
> 
> It's almost Christmas, wow! This had been loads of fun, I really hope you like this one. Thank you for reading!

Sherlock groaned to himself as he entered the church. He still didn’t regret saying the things he did to his horrible aunt, but Mummy had decided to punish him by forcing him to play the violin for the Christmas church choir. For all he knew, they were going to hold a mass for the poor or something on Christmas Eve and the choir was going to sing carols accompanied by a band. Of which Sherlock was a part now. He groaned again, grasping the handle of his violin case more tightly as he moved through the church into the rehearsal space. 

He cleared his throat for the organiser to look at him. She was a petite lady, grey hair, small built. Her hands were delicate, her eyes kind and her smile warm. Sherlock loathed this whole thing. 

‘You must be Sherlock!’ she greeted, smiling widely at him, as if it were good on him that he was Sherlock because he was the most special boy in the whole wide world. Another inward groan.

‘Yes, I believe my mother said I was joining you,’ he told her. 

‘Indeed! We have a choir of 16 to 18 year olds, see… All wanting to do a bit for the community,’ she smiled again. ‘I’m Mrs Gollightly, by the way. You may take a seat over there with Michael. He plays the cello!’ 

Sherlock walked to where this Michael sat. The boy was fat. Well, overweight, Sherlock supposed. Sixteen, just like Sherlock, with ginger hair and freckles. His cello looked pristine, and Sherlock hoped that that was because he took care of it, no because he was new at the instrument. 

‘Hey, I’m Michael!’ the boy introduced himself, extending a hand for Sherlock to shake. With an eye roll, he did just that, and sat down. The chair was uncomfortable, he preferred to play standing up. 

‘Sherlock,’ he said. Michael smiled — why did these people smile all the time? It was hateful — and began telling him all about the choir and the instruments and Sherlock just wanted to shove his bow into the boy’s bloody throat to stop him from uttering another word ever. 

The rest of the instruments arrived, but Sherlock didn’t bother introducing himself to them. The ones who did say who they were were soon deleted. Then the actual choir arrived. Two short blonde girls, a chubby brown-haired boy, they were all sixteen, most likely. Then there were three slender girls, one blonde, two brunettes, and a lanky boy with thick glasses, they all seemed to be eighteen. The others were all quite ordinary. Two more boys, another girl, sixteen, seventeen, sixteen. The last boy arrived, panting with a wide grin. The others smiled at him — some girls were a bit overly excited about his arrival — like they liked him very much. He was shorter than the average male, looked to be about seventeen, had very light brown hair, nearly blond. Even from where he sat, Sherlock could see that his eyes were so very blue. He just seemed… nice. Nice and unobtrusive and ordinary, but somehow… 

‘Okay, guys! Thank you all for coming!’ Mrs Gollightly said, and Sherlock looked away from the boy, realising he had been staring. ‘Shall we begin?’ 

Sherlock glanced at the sheet music in front of him. The first piece they were going to play was Silent Night. _Brilliant_ , Sherlock thought with a mental eye roll. He hated this futile holiday. It was pointless. The presents, the cards, the niceties, the food. Sherlock wasn’t religious, he didn’t believe in all that nonsense, and the consumerism of it all put him off completely. 

But there they went, the choir singing — quite well, actually, even Sherlock had to give it to them — and the musicians followed along. It was an easy piece, especially for Sherlock who was used to playing Bach and Tchaikovsky, and the band was fairly good. Michael was not bad on the cello, neither were the others around him, playing the viola, piano, there was even a trumpet somewhere, even though Sherlock failed to see where he fit into this particular song. 

Soon, they had been through the classics, but Sherlock didn’t bother learning their names. Two hours after they began, after a lot of false starts and mistakes and somewhat good music, they were dismissed. Sherlock put his violin back on its case carefully and sighed to himself. He looked around, trying to find the blond boy from before. He was tying his shoes, but stopped to wave goodbye at some of the girls. The lanky boy patted him on the head playfully and bid him goodbye as well. The boy stood up and smoothed his trousers, then put on his coat and backpack. Sherlock was still staring, deciding whether or not to speak with him. 

Deciding on yes, because he was anything but a coward, Sherlock approached him. 

‘You sing quite well, although that isn’t something you plan on taking further,’ Sherlock stated because, as always, he was above social niceties such as “hello” and “pleased to meet you”. The boy turned around and looked up at him. His eyes widened, then his lips broke into a grin. 

‘True, how did you figure that out?’ 

‘I observed,’ Sherlock said. ‘Sherlock Holmes.’ 

‘John Watson,’ he introduced himself, bowing his head ever-so-slightly. ‘So you observe things, then?’ 

By then, everyone had already left, so it was just Sherlock and John alone in the rehearsal room. Sherlock gulped, suddenly nervous, which was odd, and nodded. 

‘Yes, and I deduce things based on these observations.’ 

John nodded and chuckled. ‘Do you want to grab a cup of coffee and tell me what you can deduce from me, then?’ he asked, a playful smirk on the corner of his lips. Sherlock smiled for the first time in a long while. 

‘There’s a great place two blocks from here,’ he said. John nodded. 

‘Lead the way, then.’ 

And as they left Sherlock noted that maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
